


Gutted

by CarmineKnight, feraciousAbandon (Pitchblende_Viridia)



Series: Bad Ends and AUs [1]
Category: Hiveswap, Homestuck, Original Work
Genre: Blood and Gore, Bulges and Nooks, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Genital Torture, Mindbreak, Multi, Murder, Slavery, Snuff, Suicide, Twisted Moirallegiance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-31
Updated: 2018-10-31
Packaged: 2019-08-13 21:02:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16479716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CarmineKnight/pseuds/CarmineKnight, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pitchblende_Viridia/pseuds/feraciousAbandon
Summary: You always feared he would one day get sick of keeping you around. You just didn't think it would be so soon.





	1. Carmin: End

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Halloween! In a fit of sleep deprivation and ill-timed all-nighters, we thought it'd be a perfect occasion to properly establish our Bad Ends and AUs series. It's also our first literal collab! I wrote the first chapter and Pitch wrote the second.  
> That being said, this is probably the most fucked up thing we've created so far. You have been warned.

His face is bitter and indifferent above you, hiding all the smugness with a practiced ease, even now not letting on how much he’s going to enjoy this as he studies your body. Your arms and legs are both shackled far apart, exposing your naked body completely, slumped against the wall you’ve spent the better part of this time in hell chained to. You’ve long lost the strength to resist him like you used to. You simply don’t have the energy.

You’re gaunt and thin and wasting away slowly. He’s been skimping more and more on your meals. At first it was punishment for your continued willfulness, and it started to sink in and you learned obedience, complacency. But the past few weeks it seems like he’s been growing more tired of you, more bored. Not even hurting you brings him satisfaction like it used to. Your waking periods have grown less lucid, even the nightmares of sleeping with no sopor just blur into the nights. It’s pitiful how little they really bother you now.

He towers over you, standing, complete in his standard high-class, frivolous seadweller apparel, one of his nice suits, overdressed down to his boots. You recognize them as the ones he’s very fond of using to kick you around. You hear a small sound of concern from the other side of the room and through the blur and haze you see your moirail chained not dissimilarly on the other wall. Kindra had taken to separating the two of you more and more, and you can’t seem to recall the last time you were able to even speak with her normally, console her, do your duty as moirail. Everything was becoming one long, harrowing blur. You couldn’t see the scalpel he held calmly at his side that was making Pitche whimper.

As you struggle to focus your eyes and even see her clearly, you’re snapped back to your body when Kindra kneels down to your level and touches your inert, exposed bulge with his large, cold hand. A dazed, surprised chill courses through you. The sensation that something was wrong only grew more pressing as he unfastened the high-tech ring he’d implanted around your bulge and it was removed carefully and properly.

You try to speak, to utter any sound, but your throat is coarse, your tongue dry, and you can’t even form a proper sentence in your head. Your bulge is freed, though still barely able to wriggle around of its own accord due to the weakness and abuse it’s endured. Betraying you, the heavy load of genetic material backed up for weeks, past the point of discomfort and pain, starts to make its way through you -- you cringe as a small string of it oozes right on out of your bulge. You bite your lip and screw your eyes shut to hide the flush on your face. The feeling of relief, so wrong at this moment, is utterly humiliating, and you know exactly how much that precise action sickens Kindra. The dread knots you up inside, and you feel your pusher up in your protein chute. You don’t need to see the abhorrence in his eyes to feel it permeating your whole being. You’ve never felt more naked and exposed. 

He grabs your bulge, much too firmly, squeezing the base and the whine that escapes you is pathetic. You see glint of metal as he brandishes the scalpel and fuck, fuck, fuck. He’s serious. His condescending sneer cuts you deep, making you feel even more exposed and you manage to tug at your shackles, only managing a quiet rattle. The adrenaline pounds through you as the icy metal touches your most sensitive flesh. You hear Pitche start to beg but it sounds faraway, detached, echoing. You twitch and try to shrink away from him, to do absolutely anything to escape what you know is coming. He grins.

“I’m going to relish every moment of this, gutterblood. Your body disgusts me. Every filthy fluid that comes out of it. Your shit blood. Your repulsive slurry. I’m finished with you mocking me with your deluge of it every time I extend the graciousness of removing your ring. You’re lucky I even kept you this long. It’s been longer than any of the others, easily.”

The blade cuts deep into the thick stem of your bulge and you find your voice, a wild shriek of agony tearing free as bronze blood spurts out in arcs, staining Kindra’s clothing and streaking his face.

His hand yanks down the rest of your length as it attempts to thrash wildly, weakly, like a finbeast desperate to return to water, and with a firm movement he flays you through, bisecting the whole of your most tender flesh.

Blood pours out in obscene quantity, pressurized from the returning circulation, and the twitching and firing of random nerves only last a few minutes. It pools all around and beneath you, drips down the rest of your body.

You howl until your throat is raw, bucking and twisting with everything left of your strength.

You bleed and bleed and bleed until you’re dizzy from more than just screaming your lungs out, and tears blur your vision even more. You don’t even notice what Kindra’s preparing for when he calculatingly pokes the scalpel in the middle of your chest.

This time he’s slower, agonizing, slicing you open down the rest of your stomach, spilling blood and viscera as you writhe and sob. You know this is the end now. You can feel the weight on your head as air stops reaching your brain, as your gasps grow ragged and desperate. 

The excruciating pain consumes all of your senses, and you see nothing but haze as Kindra yanks your head up by your greasy hair and buries the blade into your throat, dragging it deep across your neck, severing your airflow. Hot blinding colors spark across your vision before the blackness grows heavier, heavier, dragging everything down, and with a gurgle and sputter of blood through your windpipe, you slip into the nothingness.

\--

You still sob, crying out in protest, pleading, pleading for him to stop. You couldn’t have looked away from the gruesome scene even if you wanted to. You can’t believe things had to turn out this way. Gog, she can’t be gone. This has to be one of your daymares again. She can’t be gone... Everything is swirling with bronze and the air is heavy with the smell of blood, too strong and pervasive to be even your most vivid daymare. Fuck, you might be sick...

Kindra stands up slowly, once her body stops twitching. His nice suit is completely splattered with the dark blood. His expression slowly morphs from one of twisted pleasure, to relief. He almost looks peaceful and it’s horrifying. In all your long two-months’ stay, he’d never displayed this kind of bloodlust, despite everything. And she’d been behaving better than ever... Why did he...?

Your breath hikes and you lock up completely as he turns, and strides to you, with a calm, deliberate expression. He extends out a hand as he approaches, slick with her blood. He kneels again, down to your level, with far too much grace, and shooshes you with sickeningly believable sincerity, a bloody finger pressing to your lips.

“You knew I killed her, didn’t you, Kyreph?

Is that why you hurt me, so many sweeps ago?

I only wanted to be the one to comfort you.

You don’t need a shitblood to keep you safe.

You don’t need her.

You only need me.

She can’t do a thing to comfort you now, can she?

Only I can.

You hurt me, you know. You wounded and scarred me. Left me imperfect.

And I still want to be the one to comfort you.

Isn’t that kind of me, Kyreph?”


	2. Pitche: Shatter

You could almost feel your sense of self shatter when Kindra’s wet, unusually warm hand came up to cup your cheek, delivering a firm pap with a slick slapping sound. Some distant, broken part of you knew what it was, but after all this you just… fell into the touch. The seadweller pulled you close as you limply fell against him, shooshing you in a voice you knew deep down should have sickened you. But now? Now it felt like the only thing you could hold on to. His slicked hand stroked your cheeks and hair, smearing the sticky fluid wherever it went, marking you with his handprint in a brown that no longer sparked recognition in your broken state.

Kindra’s voice wormed its way into your head, gentle whispers you could barely comprehend washing over you. The warm, slick fluid smeared on your skin and his hand started to cool, and you could feel your consciousness begin to fade. As if the more he spoke, the more he pulled out of you, twisting it into perverse shapes before feeding it back in to your worn and tattered body. The only word you could understand, the only one that made an sense, was repeated over and over. And every time you latched on to it harder.

“Kyreph… Kyreph… Kyreph…” The name was the last thing you could remember hearing as you fully faded into black.  
  


* * *

 

Your morning started the same as any other. Kindra’s cool hand roused you from your sleep, and a few moments later he was guiding you out of the slime. He diligently wiped the remnants of sopor from your skin, and took you into the cold ablution block to wash your body. Every movement of his hands was meticulous and precise, cleaning you head to toe the same way every day.   
  
Next he took you into his block, and in a change from usual, he sat you down in front of the vanity instead of dressing you. As he took out cases full of make up, you realized there must be something happening today, and that he was going to make you presentable. You looked up at yourself in the mirror, studying the short, dark strands, cut into a face-framing bob. You didn’t know why it always felt so off seeing your own hair, but the thought left your mind as Kindra started to get to work on your face.

“Realised it have you? There’s a party going on later tonight, a royal gala, and I’ve decided it’s time for the word to see my darling Kyreph at her best.” You made an affirmative noise, keeping still as Kindra worked you over with brushes and liners, highlighting the features he liked and minimizing others, painting your lips with his colour and making you look perfect. When he finally moved back, you smiled at him, and he nodded with satisfaction before turning to pick out your outfit. This part always took the longest, but you sat patiently and waited for your moirail to pick out the perfect one.

* * *

 

The dress was perfect. As soon as the two of you were announced, you could feel all eyes drawn to you. It was cut low, framing the beautifully raised scars on your chest, an amalgam of your sign and his, and there was hardly a person who could resist looking. Kindra had an arm locked around yours, and he guided you around, socializing with his equals and occasionally introducing you. You took in the sights eagerly, but you could swear there was someone you kept catching glimpses of who almost seemed familiar. But you hadn’t met any seadwellers other than Kindra before he brought you here...

* * *

 

Again. A pair of horns caught your eye, an almost familiar shape poking above the crowd before vanishing. You tightened your grip on Kindra’s arm, a shiver of confusion running through you, but he paused his conversation to pat your arm soothingly and you started to relax again.

* * *

 

Another violet said something witty. You didn’t really catch quite what, but you knew the cue to laugh when it happened. 

“...che?” A voice coming from behind you, it sounded so familiar but you didn’t know why. “Pitche!?”

Kindra turned with you to face the voice. A tall violetblood with crossing horns. Her gaze shifted up and down, and the look on her face shifted from shock to rage.

* * *

 

**_Crack_ ** .

The sound felt deafening. The taller violet blood had leapt forward with a snarl. You screamed as her first blow landed and knocked Kindra to the ground. She followed after him and you cried out in terror for your moirail as the  familiar stranger rained blow after blow into Kindra’s face.

“NO! Don’t hurt him!” You grabbed at her arm, making a futile attempt to stop her. “Get away from my diamond!”

She suddenly froze up, fist in the air and dripping with violet. Slowly, she turned to face you, the look on her face twisted with too many emotions for you to count. After a moment, her arms dropped to her sides, and the look of defeat on her face was so powerful you shook you to your core. A ring of highbloods had surrounded the violent display, but they parted to let her through as she stood up, leaving Kindra’s bloodied corpse where it lay as she trudged off.

* * *

 

You barely make it to the scuttlebuggy before you break down. Sobs wrack through you as you collapse into the back seat, violet tears spilling down your face. You failed her. You spent too long fucking around, you didn’t find her in time, now she’s gone. You fumble around with the autopilot clumsily, somehow managing to set it to Elvira’s hive before you collapse again, and the scuttlebuggy starts off. You can’t be here anymore.

* * *

 

By the time it arrives at the towering spire, you’ve managed to compose yourself. You’re still shaking slightly, but you’ve cried yourself out and can manage to stand. Elvira must have heard you coming because she’s waiting at the door when you step out. You can see her expression fall when she gets a look at your tear-stained face and the dried violet blood on your fists.

“You… you found her.”

You nod mutely, unable to trust your voice. As black as things run between you, she still steps forward and pulls you into an embrace. You sink into her strength as your own runs out, and a few moments later she guides you into her hive.

It takes some time, but eventually you manage to explain to her what you had found.

She takes care of you, as best she can. But she can’t care the same way Pitche did. Her heart isn’t in it, and ends up feeling empty and lacking. 

As the night wears on, you make your way to the top of one of the towers, stepping out onto the roof. The sky is starting to brighten a little, morning will be coming soon, and you stare out into the distance. You’re leaning heavily on the railing when Elvira steps up beside you, resting a hand on your shoulder.

“The sun’ll be up soon Khinkh. The guest coon is set up, you should rest.”

“Yeah. I’ll… I’ll rest soon. Just need some alone time up here.” She nods, and gives you a sad, knowing look before leaving you. You’re gripping the railing so tight your knuckles have gone white. 

You listen to the sound of her walking down the stairs until it fades, and pull yourself slowly and deliberately over the railing. You balance on the edge of the tower and close your eyes. You picture her, sweeps ago when you met her. How she made your heart race when you first kissed, first pacified and soothed each other. How she looked the day before she vanished.

And when you remember the face that looked back at you just a few hours ago, your hands go slack. You feel the air rushing around you, but keep your eyes shut and focus on the last time she smiled at you.

Back in her hive, Elvira stood with her back to the wall, gazing wistfully up the spiral staircase. She’d seen so much death in her time, she didn’t find herself distraught, but with all three of them gone... Without Pitche, Carmin and Khinkh in her life, it was going to be much lonelier, that much she had to admit. And there was something powerful to the bonds the three of them had shared. The kind of bonds that deserved to be written down to inspire others. Elvira hadn’t been able to save any of them, but maybe there was a way she could preserve the memory of them. She hadn’t written in quite a number of sweeps, but there was always time to dust off an old skill.


End file.
